


(I bet) I can make you love me

by ThePeetaBread



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bets & Wagers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Romance, cheesy romcom clexa tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-15 08:26:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7215007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePeetaBread/pseuds/ThePeetaBread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke Griffin's roommate is all of three things; cold, rude, and totally gorgeous. Clarke pretends the latter isn't true and contemplates the possibility she may need to replace both of her best friends.</p><p>or</p><p>Octavia and Raven make a bet to see who can sleep with Clarke's asshole roommate first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Clarke wants to throw herself out the window. 

 

_ No _ , she thinks groggily, hand pressed over her face to block the light bleeding into her dorm room, she wants to throw  _ Lexa _ out the window. 

 

It’s six in the morning, six on a  _ Sunday _ morning, and instead of sleeping in until noon and downing three bottles of gatorade to nurse her brewing hangover, she’s awake, peeking at the ceiling through her fingers and pressing her thumbs to her temples to calm her raging headache. The sound of Lexa’s alarm blares obnoxiously to her left, the bright light of the ceiling lamp gleams as Lexa flicks it on without a second thought. 

 

Clarke’s stomach churns, possibly with tequila, but more likely with rage as she sits abruptly, ripping her hands away from her face long enough to shoot Lexa a glare as scathing as she can muster on three hours sleep.  

 

“Do you mind?” She asks angrily, and Lexa looks over at her, hair pulled into a bun at the top of her head, already dressed in her gym wear. Her bed is already made, her curtains drawn. Atop her desk sits a presumably finished paper waiting to be handed in, pens and pencils stacked neatly next to in a pre-shaped formation. Her clothes are neatly folded in their drawers, makeup on her vanity tidied cleanly away. Everything about her is pristine, from the way she makes the bed with no creases to the perfect twirl of the bun of her head. It’s  _ six a.m. _ and it drives Clarke crazy. 

 

“Sorry,” Lexa says flatly, her look withering, “Did I wake you?” 

 

She turns from Clarke, grabbing her phone to stop its noise and reaches for her headphones, draping them around her neck as she slips into her running shoes. Clarke squints, the light doing no wonders for the pounding at the back of her head and wonders not for the first time what she did to deserve such an insensitive jerk of a roommate. 

 

“Yes! Yes you did,” Clarke says hotly, “A little consideration would be nice.”

 

The room is kind of fuzzy but Clarke can make out the quirk of Lexa’s eyebrow through the sheen of light that swelters down on her. 

 

“Consideration?” Lexa responds dryly, “You mean like coming home at three a.m. and shouting down the entire hall? That kind of consideration?” 

 

Clarke furrows her eyebrows, trying to recall the memory. She remembers doing shots with Raven and losing beer pong to Bellamy before finally collapsing and passing out in Octavia’s lap. With a quick look down, she realises she’s in last nights outfit, smeared makeup and all, with no recollection of how she got home.  Lexa takes her silence as an answer, and with a purposeful look, slips her headphones over her ears. 

 

“Hey, wait we’re not done here!” Clarke says but Lexa just breezes past her, hand moving for the door knob. Clarke attempts feverishly to follow her, but her ankles catch the blankets they’re tucked under and she ends up face first on the floor, watching helplessly as Lexa slips out the door, not sparing her a glance.

 

If Lexa hears the string of expletives Clarke shouts at her down the hall, she takes no notice of them.

  
  


* * *

 

“I hate her,” Clarke seethes, “I hate her, I actually physically  _ hate her _ \--”

 

Raven looks over the rim of her coffee mug inquisitively to where Clarke is pacing. Her hair is wild, eyeliner smeared, lipstick smattered down her lips and cheeks. She looks crazy, barging through the hallways in last night's dress and bare feet, stomping into Raven and Octavia’s shared dorm, ranting like a woman possessed. 

 

Raven takes another sip of coffee, content with letting Clarke’s own angry tirade tire herself out. Across from her, the small lump buried underneath a mountain of sheets lets out a long groan. 

 

“Griffin!” Octavia emerges, hair just as wild, eyes wide with annoyance and eyeliner, “ _ Shut up already god-- _ ” 

 

Clarke halts in her tracks, all fire seemingly lost. With a huffed breath, she slumps down onto Raven’s bed, sending coffee sloshing all over the covers. Raven groans, too hungover to care. 

 

“I’m requesting a switch.” Clarke says suddenly, and Raven rolls her eyes. 

 

“You say that almost every day.”

 

“I’m doing it for real this time.” Clarke says stubbornly. 

 

Octavia snorts, burrowing herself in a tiny cocoon of blankets, “No you’re not.” 

 

“I am!”

 

The madness is gone from Clarke’s eyes, instead replaced with a nuanced sort of clarity. Her eyes burn blue with determination Raven knows will crumble the minute she steps into the admissions office. 

 

“Okay fine,” Raven concedes, “Go do it then.”

 

“I’m going to.” Clarke pauses, eyes flickering with uncertainty. After a beat, she slumps back against Raven’s wall, lolling her head into her knees. Raven catches Octavia’s eye. 

 

“Face it, Griffin,” Octavia says, slight triumph in her voice despite her rude awakening, “You always were a sucker for a pretty face.” 

 

“She’s not a pretty face,” Clarke says scornfully, “She’s a  _ jerkface _ . She’s rude and obnoxious and constantly  _ grumpy _ \--”

 

“And cute as heck,” Raven says with a roll of her eyes, “Just admit it.” 

 

For the better part of the semester, Clarke has been like a five-year old boy with a playground crush on a pretty girl. Raven doesn’t know Clarke’s roommate well, she’s met her exactly twice, both times of which she was appraised with a steely glare and then thoroughly ignored. She’s cold, no doubt, but she’s also gorgeous, with high-shaped cheekbones and full lips, chestnut hair that falls down her shoulders in loose curls and steady, emerald eyes. She might just be the most attractive human being Raven has ever seen (barring herself, of course) and judging by the way she becomes so infuriatingly obsessive about everything Lexa does, Clarke thinks so too. 

 

Clarke lets out an indignant huff, pressing her lips together, “If you had to room with her I doubt you’d feel that way.”

 

Raven creases her eyebrows thoughtfully, “If I had to room with her I’d have banged her already.”

 

Octavia lets out a hum of agreement and Clarke folds her arms, clearly aggravated. 

 

“You could try,” She snorts, “She’d shut you down before you could so much as bat your eyelashes at her--”

 

Octavia sits up, sudden glint in her eye and catches Raven’s gaze. Raven knows this look well, her brother has the same one, and wherever or whenever it was employed, trouble was usually close behind. 

 

“You know, I bet I could do it.” Octavia states suddenly, smirk curving her lips. 

 

Clarke looks at her with a frown, “Do what?” 

 

“Bang your roommate.” Octavia says with a shrug, and Raven drops her head in a silent curse, because she will undoubtedly be dragged into this, one way or another. Riling Clarke up was Octavia’s favorite pastime and while admittedly, Raven had been a culprit by association many times before, it is far too early on a Sunday morning to even think about Octavia’s next conspiracy. 

 

Clarke stares at her disbelievingly, “You’re not serious.” 

 

Octavia shrugs, “Why not? Just because you’re not game doesn’t mean we can’t play, right Raven?”

 

Raven doesn’t want to play. Not in the slightest. She has a research project to finish and three papers due by the end of the week. But Octavia is smiling at her to play along and Clarke looks as if she might burst a blood vessel and if there’s anything she’s not, it’s a buzzkill. She pretends to think, reaching a hand to tap at the bottom of her chin before letting out an exaggerated nod she’s sure Clarke will see. 

 

“You’re on. What’s the bet?”

 

“Whoever can tap the Ice Queen first wins. Loser does the laundry for the rest of the semester.” 

 

“You’re  _ straight _ !” Clarke says, pointing her fingers towards Octavia, before turning to Raven, “And  _ you _ have a boyfriend!” 

 

“Bellamy is not my boyfriend.” Raven says with a roll of her eyes, “We slept together  _ once _ .” 

 

“And I’m always open to new things,” Octavia cuts in, eyes twinkling, “Who knows, maybe she’ll turn me.”

 

“Whatever,” Clarke says with a huff, “Good luck getting her to look at you twice. I’m not entirely convinced she isn’t a sociopath--” 

 

“Don’t be upset Clarke,” Octavia says, waggling her eyebrows, “It’s not too late to get in on it.”

 

“No thanks,” Clarke says sullenly, “Asshole isn’t my type.”

 

“What about Finn--” Octavia starts loudly and Clarke glares at her.

 

“ _ Octavia! _ ” 

 

Suddenly, the room feels smaller, and the coffee on the tip of her tongue is too bitter. Raven averts her eyes from where Clarke stares at her as if she might shatter at the mention of his name, pressing her fingers to grasp loosely at the tips of her knees. She’s more than aware of the way the room falls to a cautious silence and swallows uncomfortably, eager to lift the dampening mood. 

 

“Asshole is definitely  _ my _ type,” She says lightly, trying to ignore the flood of relief apparent in Clarke’s expression, “Alright, Blake, you’re on.” She reaches out, locking Octavia’s hand in a firm grasp and shaking.

 

Octavia beams a shit-eating grin towards Clarke, who looks exasperated, but rolls her eyes all the same. Dropping Raven’s hand in favor of raising her mug to her lips, Octavia holds her gaze, “Bet’s on Reyes. May the best woman win.”  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eep, sorry for the wait! Thank you for all your lovely comments, I'll try to be more timely about the next update!

Anya is late. 

 

Lexa’s fingers twitch, the trying to maintain the blossoming of annoyance in her stomach. Her room is still with silence, application papers for her model UN group stacked neatly at her desk. Anya is  _ supposed _ to be her second in command, around to pick up the slack when Lexa needs her, help her decide things like grouping order and submission forms. Instead, Anya is late, and Lexa is becoming impatient. 

 

She drums at the corner of her desk, contemplating calling her. Anya rarely picks up her phone but it’s more productive than sitting here and staring at herself in the mirror's reflection. This slot of time Lexa has taken from her  _ extremely _ busy schedule was per Anya’s request, and Lexa blows out an aggravated huff of air at her gall. 

 

Just as she’s about to reach for her phone, her dorm door swings open, and Lexa whirls around in her seat to catch Anya’s arrival. For a moment, Lexa thinks it’s going to be her nuisance of a roommate, but then Anya’s blonde head pops through the doorway, leather jacket slung behind her shoulder. 

 

“You’re late.” 

 

Anya smacks her gum with a loud pop, kicking her boots off with an disinterested stare. 

 

“You said one,” Lexa reiterates, looking down at her watch, “It is now one-fourteen-”

 

“I got held up.” Anya says with a shrug, dropping onto Lexa’s bed. Lexa stares at her, tightening her jaw in annoyance. Anya is like her sister, and in times like these she really acts the part. 

 

“Anya, I don’t have time for this,” Lexa explains as patiently as she can, “I have a scholarship to maintain. Two clubs to run. A job. If you can’t respect my time--”

 

“You’ll what? Fire me?” Anya deadpans, with a roll of her eyes, “C’mon, Lex, you and I both know you wouldn't last a single day alone with those imbeciles.” 

 

Lexa straightens her shoulders. Anya is right, of course. Politics club is made up of exactly thirty members, most of which didn’t bother to attend weekly meetings. Out of those who did, less than half ever had the faintest idea what they were talking about. 

 

“Don’t be late again. I mean it.” 

 

“I know you do,” Anya says, “I’m sorry. Let’s just get this done, okay?” 

 

She reaches across for the papers laid out along Lexa’s desk, flicking through them with a pronounced lack of urgency. Lexa presses her lips together. 

 

“We need at least eight to qualify.” Lexa tells her, “Application has to be in by next Wednesday. We need to pick a team and a country.”

 

“Sounds like you have it all figured out,” Anya says, looking up with a wry smile. Lexa stares at her impatiently. 

 

“We need a team, Anya,” She says, “A  _ good _ team. I won’t be the first president walking away without an award.”

 

Anya hums thoughtfully, peering up at her with a contemplative look. 

 

“Eight shouldn’t be too hard,” She says slowly, “I mean, twenty thousand people go to this school-” 

 

“Can you do it or not?” Lexa asks abruptly, and the look Anya gives her is scathing. 

 

“Christ, Lex,  _ yes _ I can do it.”

 

“Good.” Lexa says simply, dropping her papers to the desk. Anya looks at her concernedly, and a wave of dread arises within the pit of Lexa’s stomach. If she wasn’t careful, Anya would try and give her one of  _ those _ talks, the kind that usually occurred when Lexa was short with her and Anya misinterpreted it as some great act of depression. 

 

“What are you doing tonight?” She asks, and Lexa looks down at her watch, not-so-subtly trying to clue Anya in to the fact it was time for her to leave. 

 

“Working.” 

 

“I mean after that.” 

 

“Sleeping.”

 

Anya rolls her eyes.  

 

“Come out with me for a drink. I’m meeting Lincoln and Luna at Pablo’s at nine.” 

 

“I can’t,” Lexa says absently, “I have to rework my speech for debate club.” 

 

“You wrote that last night.” Anya accuses, narrowing her eyes. 

 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Lexa says with a slow blink, “And tonight I’m  _ re-writing _ it.” 

 

Anya lets out a soft huff, looking her over with a look of mild annoyance. Lexa holds her gaze and Anya suddenly softens. 

 

“I’m worried about you,” Anya says suddenly quiet, “You’re working yourself to the ground.”

 

Lexa shifts, immediately uncomfortable. This was one of those talks she had been so desperate to miss, and she averts her gaze, working her jaw awkwardly. 

 

“I’m fine, Anya.” She says hurriedly but Anya doesn’t look convinced. 

 

“I know you miss her,” Anya continues, “I miss her too. But you don’t have to deal with it alone. We’re all here-”

 

Lexa stands up abruptly, almost sending the stack of paper on her desk flying to the floor. She fumbles with the straps on her jacket, slipping it over her shoulders and avoids Anya’s eyes. 

 

“I know. But I’m good. I promise,” She slips her phone into her back pocket as it begins to buzz with her reminder alarm, “And right now I have to go to work.” 

 

Anya looks at her searchingly as if she’s trying to look right through her, to the deepest of emotions Lexa refuses to let surface. Lexa’s expression is perfectly steeled, despite the weak thrum of her heart and Anya gives in with a sigh, standing with a shake of her head. 

 

“Text me when you’re done with your speech,” She offers on her way out, barely managing to grab her boots as Lexa shoos her, “We’ll probably still be drinking.”

 

Lexa has no intention of doing so, and Anya seems to know it. Her smile is tight as she nods, and Anya squeezes her arm, offering the very little comfort Lexa will let her give. 

  
  


* * *

 

Clarke needs new friends. 

 

If the obscenely inappropriate bet they had made just days before wasn’t proof enough, they very fact they had been sitting in the cafeteria for over an hour just to catch a glimpse of Clarke’s elusive roommate surely was. 

 

Clarke has given up trying to get them to leave and instead doodles absent-mindedly on the corner of her biology textbook, ignoring the excited twist of Octavia’s elbow in her ribs every few minutes. 

 

“That’s her!” 

 

Octavia’s hand swings out to point, coming dangerously close to whacking Raven in the teeth. Raven swats her arm away with an indignant shove, “Watch it! That’s not her.” 

 

Clarke rolls her eyes, and sinks deeper into her seat. Tuesday evenings are notoriously boring on campus but this is becoming sad. At what seems like every girl with long brown hair, Octavia sits straighter in her seat and sprays ketchup everywhere trying to point her out. So far, she’s been wrong all of four times, and to Clarke’s relief, she seems to be losing steam. 

 

“We’ve been here for ages,” Octavia complains, knee shaking upwards in impatience, “Does she not eat?” 

 

“Here, with us mere mortals?” Clarke says wryly, “Not a chance.” 

 

Octavia furrows her brows, craning her head to look over to the door again. In the five days since the bet had been made, Clarke doesn’t think she’s ever seen Octavia so obsessed. 

 

“What are you actually going to say to her when you do see her?” Raven asks curiously, stilling her fork in her salad. Clarke looks up at this, trying to keep her expression even, as if the thought of Octavia’s answer doesn’t terrify her. 

 

Octavia looks at Raven as if it's obvious. 

 

“I’m going to let her sleep with me.” 

 

“How generous of you,” Raven deadpans, “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. The ketchup all over your shirt is a real draw.”

 

Octavia frowns, looking down at her shirt, fingers staining the smudge an even deeper red, “Whatever,” She concedes, tugging her shirt down a little further to show the slightest more cleavage, “I don’t think she’ll notice.” 

 

Her eyes glint, and she catches Clarke’s stormy gaze with a wink. 

 

“Keep it in your pants, hotshot,” Raven nudges, tilting her head forward, “Blake senior at ten o’clock.” 

 

Clarke turns just as Bellamy reaches their table, tray stacked to the brim, satchel lodged under his arm. Octavia’s mouth snaps shut, but she doesn’t draw her gaze from the entrance, still invigorated in her search for Lexa.  

 

“Hey,” Bellamy greets, dropping down into the seat next to Raven, mouth already full with meatloaf, “What’s happening?”

 

Clarke catches Raven’s eye, willing away the broad grin on her face with a stern look. Raven looks down into her food to hide her snort, and Clarke shoots a quick smile to Bellamy as if she isn’t seriously contemplating strangling his sister. 

 

“Not much,” Clarke says quickly, “Raven was just telling us about her new lab partner.” 

 

“Total nutjob,” Raven says instantly, “No idea what he was doing - almost blew us all up. Luckily I was there to keep everything under control.” She puffs her chest slightly, and Clarke rolls her eyes as Bellamy nods, eyes wide. 

 

“Wow,” Bellamy says with a laugh, “Sounds like quite the day.” 

 

“It really does,” Clarke says dryly.

 

“So, actually, Raven, I’ve been meaning to ask-  the Astronomy club’s doing this star-gazing party tonight,” Bellamy says a little too casually for it to be natural, “You wanna go?” 

 

The air of confidence Raven carries around so easily suddenly shifts, and she drops Clarke’s gaze, leaning back into her chair. 

 

“Can’t tonight,” Raven says with a shrug, though she offers no explanation as to why, “Clarke’s free though, she’ll go with you.” 

 

Clarke huffs at being offered around like a piece of candy and Bellamy’s face falls slightly, though Raven is too busy with a sudden interest in what Octavia’s doing to notice. 

 

“Actually, I was kind of hoping maybe you and I--”

 

“There she is!” Octavia’s excited cry is matched with an elbow in Clarke’s thigh and she groans, rubbing at the spot with an aggravated expression as her eyes fall upon Lexa. She’s standing in line for her food, hair pulled back in a neat bun, head tilted slightly as she observes her options. She’s dressed immaculately, as usual, in high-waisted slacks and a clean blue blouse that fits her neatly, looking much like a congresswomen in amongst scores of shabbily dressed fraternity boys. Clarke tugs self-consciously at her own faded band tee-shirt and tries to lower herself in her seat, hoping Octavia doesn’t draw her attention. 

 

“Who’s that?” Bellamy asks, confused, and Raven snorts. 

 

“Clarke’s future wife,” She says wryly, “If Octavia doesn’t beat her to it.” 

 

“My roommate,” Clarke interjects hurriedly, shooting a scalding glare Raven’s way, “We don’t get along.” 

 

Bellamy looks like he wants to say something, but before he can open his mouth, Clarke’s attention has turned, focused instead on the rustle next to her as Octavia clambers out of her seat, eagle-like gaze fixated on Lexa. 

 

“What are you doing?” Clarke asks quickly, though she fears she already knows the answer. 

 

“I’m going to say hi,” Octavia grins wickedly, “Want to introduce me?” 

 

“Sit down,” Clarke hisses, tugging at Octavia’s forearm but Octavia shrugs out of her grip easily, eyes locked determinedly on her target. Clarke groans and buries her head in her hands. 

 

“You know Clarke,” Raven observes, “If you didn’t react this way every single time, Octavia might not hassle you as much.”

 

Clarke glares at her. 

 

“Wait,” Bellamy interjects, looking thoroughly confused, “What is Octavia doing?” 

 

Clarke ignores him, watching as Octavia approaches Lexa, heart beating erratically. Lexa turns as she’s spoken to, looking less than impressed Octavia has interrupted the line as she’s getting her food. Octavia says something, fingers twirling through her own hair in that flirty way that’s usually reserved for tall boys with tattoos. Her hand reaches out to touch Lexa’s forearm and Clarke grinds her jaw, tearing her gaze away to stare sullenly into her dinner. 

 

“Huh,” Raven says, sounding surprised, “That was quick.” 

 

Clarke turns as Octavia makes her way back to the table, eyebrows furrowed together, looking perplexed. Lexa has resumed serving her own dinner, seemingly unbothered. 

 

“Hey ladykiller,” Raven drawls, “How’d it go?”

 

Octavia frowns, “It was weird,” She says, sinking back into her seat, “It was almost like she wasn’t into me at all.” 

 

“Wow,” Raven says with a roll of her eyes, “Imagine that.” 

 

“I made  _ sure _ she could see my boobs and everything,” Octavia continues, gesturing to her bursting cleavage, eyebrows creased in confusion. She turns to Clarke, “Are you sure she’s gay?” 

 

Clarke stares at her disbelievingly as Raven snorts. 

 

“She’s gay.” Clarke says shortly. 

 

“But are you  _ sure _ \--” 

 

“Positive.” Clarke snaps, “She told me herself.”

 

It had been less of a conversation and more of an enraged order to not touch Lexa’s things after Clarke had accidentally smashed the picture frame Lexa kept of her ex-girlfriend on her nightstand. 

 

“Then I don’t get it.” Octavia slumps into her seat, arms crossed. 

 

Beside Raven, Bellamy’s expression is suddenly firm and Clarke grabs her bag, sensing the incoming storm. 

 

“Oh, hey,” Clarke says, grabbing at Raven’s hands, “I forgot, we had the uh- thing to go to. Now. Sorry guys.” In one quick move, she tugs Raven to her feet, swinging her bag over her shoulder. Raven looks confused for all of three seconds, before she catches sight of Octavia obliviously staring at Lexa sitting three rows down and Bellamy simmering quietly, his disapproval about to make itself known. 

 

“Ah, yes, the thing,” Raven says gravely, “We better get going.” With a quick wave to both Blakes, Clarke tugs her out just as Bellamy begins to speak, his tone tempered into his disappointed father routine. Bellamy will lecture, Octavia will ignore him and there’s a very real possibility it will turn into a scene. Clarke has witnessed her fair share of Blake family disputes and for the most part, all she has learned is to find the nearest exit as quickly as possible. Raven shares a similar outlook, and together they navigate their way out of the cafeteria before it has the chance to escalate. 

 

“Pablos?” Raven asks as soon as they make it outside and Clarke frowns, eying her suspiciously. 

 

“I thought you were busy tonight,” Clarke says as Raven interlocks their arms, leading her down the path to the bar as if it's second nature. 

 

“I’ll be  _ getting _ busy,” Raven says assuredly, “All I need is a few drinks and someone passably cute.” 

 

Clarke has half a mind to point out they just left someone a little more than passably cute inside with his sister. Instead, she bites her tongue; she has long since learned not to interfere in Raven’s love life, no matter how irritatingly obtuse she can be. Her mind flickers to Lexa, stomach churning unpleasantly at the fallout she will no doubt face after Octavia’s run in with her. 

 

“Hey-” Clarke says after a moment of silence, “This bet- it’s not like a serious thing right? Like you’re not actually going to-”

 

Raven rolls her eyes, bumping Clarke’s hips with her own, “Sleep with your future baby mama? Of course not.”

 

“I’m serious, Raven,” Clarke says, coming to a sudden halt, “Things between Lexa and I are already bad enough, if she finds out about this stupid bet-” 

 

Raven blinks, caught off guard by Clarke’s sudden insistence, “Chill, Clarke,” She says, “It’s nothing serious, you  _ know _ what Octavia’s like.” 

 

“I  _ know _ Octavia always takes it too far.” 

 

“Lexa doesn’t even like her,” Raven protests weakly, “You saw what happened back there.” 

 

“Please, Raven,” Clarke says, “Can you just talk to her? Convince her to back off? For me?” 

 

“Clarke--”

 

“ _ Please.” _

 

Raven bites her bottom lip, contemplating Clarke’s round, pleading eyes warily. Octavia is immune to reason, for the most part, completely defiant of backing down from a challenge, especially one that so clearly got under Clarke’s skin. However, what Octavia held in determination, she lacked in focus, and Raven was pretty sure all it would take was dangling a pretty boy in front of her before she lost all interest in Clarke’s sullen roommate. She heaves a heavy sigh. 

 

“Fine,” She concedes and watches as Clarke’s shoulders sag in relief, “I’ll  _ try _ to talk to her. No promises though.” 

 

“Thank you.” Clarke says with so much sincerity Raven is suddenly uncomfortable, and she bumps Clarke’s shoulder lightly, looping their arms together. 

  
“Yeah, yeah,” She says, pulling Clarke with her as she resumes walking, “I wouldn’t thank me yet.” 


	3. Chapter 3

“What do you mean we don’t have enough to qualify?” 

 

Clarke opens her eyes blearily, squinting through the darkness in a state of half-lidded confusion. She makes out Lexa’s figure, crouching at her desk with her phone pressed to her ear, the dim light of her desk lamp illuminating her side of the room. In her bewilderment, she turns slightly to make out the bright green numbers on her alarm clock, groaning when they burn back their six a.m reality.   

 

“That’s  _ not _ good enough, Anya, we have less than  _ five  _ days to pull together a team and I told you  _ specifically- _ ”

 

“Can you keep it down?” Clarke lets out an annoyed croak.

 

“ _ Be quiet! _ ” Lexa snarls back, head whipping around to send Clarke a glare so furious she falls silent, completely taken aback. Lexa’s jaw is tight, and there’s a vein pulsing down her neck that looks as if it may burst as she speaks, firmly, dripping with poorly concealed anger. 

 

“ _ Fine. _ Don’t even bother, I’ll do it myself.”

 

With an infuriated huff, Lexa presumably hangs up her phone by throwing it to her bed, kicking back her chair and standing in one swift move. Clarke watches bewildered as Lexa storms about the dorm room like the skinniest version of the incredible hulk, talking to herself in angry mutters, shoulders broad and tensed as she sweeps up various items and shoves them into her backpack. With a final angered huff, she slams the door behind her, leaving Clarke astonished and slightly dazed, half-asleep in her bed. 

 

* * *

 

“Earth to Clarke.” 

 

Clarke blinks, snapped out of her daze by Raven’s hand waving over her face. Her hands tighten around her coffee cup as she realizes it’s slipping, suddenly aware both Raven and Octavia are staring at her. 

 

“Are you okay?” Octavia asks, peering at her curiously, “You seem kind of out of it.” 

 

Clarke sits up in her seat, trying to blink away the sting of tiredness. It’s loud in here, and the usual bustle of students stopping in for their ten a.m. coffee break seems more obnoxious than usual. Clarke presses her coffee cup to her lips, in desperate want of the caffeine. 

 

“I was up late finishing a paper,” She mumbles with a yawn, “And then Lexa woke me up this morning at six yelling at someone.”

 

Octavia sits a little straighter, interest piqued. 

 

“Yelling at someone?” She asks, “Who? Her girlfriend, maybe? An ex?” 

 

Clarke is too tired to be annoyed with her, and so she presses her head against the high back of her chair, closing her eyes. 

 

“Sure,” She mumbles, “Maybe. Who knows.” 

 

“Because I’ve been thinking,” Octavia continues, “She must have a girlfriend, right? That’s why she wasn’t into it at the cafeteria.”

 

“Infallible logic,” Raven comments dryly, “You cracked the case, O.” 

 

“Soon to be  _ ex _ -girlfriend, anyway,” Octavia says with a mischievous glint in her eye, “After I’ve had my way with her.”

 

Clarke hums disinterestedly, head drooping slightly as she struggles to keep her eyes open. Octavia lets out a disgruntled huff. 

 

“Well, aren’t you fun today,” She says sardonically, tapping Clarke’s thigh lightly as she stands, “I’m gonna get another latte. That barista is kind of cute.” 

 

“Get me one too please.” Raven asks, flashing her a wide smile in request, and dropping into Octavia’s vacant seat as she leaves. Clarke feels Raven sink into the spot next to her, and cracks open one eye in greeting. 

 

“I told you,” Raven says nudging Clarke’s foot with her own, “If you don’t react, she gets bored.” 

 

Clarke contemplates this with a quiet murmur, dropping her head to rest on Raven’s shoulder. Eyes squinted, she makes out Octavia at the counter, twirling her hair between her fingers with a coy smile directed at something the barista just said. Clarke snorts. 

 

“Your mom called me again this morning.” Raven says suddenly, eyes fixated on Clarke. Clarke shifts uncomfortably under the weight of her gaze, and sits up slowly, taking a long sip of her coffee. “She asked about you.”

 

Clarke studies her own fingers carefully, suddenly very interested in the state of her cuticles. Raven is looking at her expectantly, the heat of her gaze burning into the side of Clarke’s face. 

 

“Oh yeah?” Clarke offers weakly, “Hope you didn’t tell her about that B I got in the last bio-chem exam.” 

 

Raven’s lips purse together in a gentle smile, and Clarke refocuses her gaze on Octavia, desperate to worm her way out of this conversation. Octavia’s coffee is ready, but she’s in no hurry, taking the time to rub her hand along the barista’s forearm with a flirty smile. Typical, Clarke thinks, that the one time she should actually need Octavia, she’s trying to get into the pants of some strange dude. 

 

“You should call her sometime,” Raven presses, “She misses you.” 

 

“I will,” Clarke says abruptly, hoping the promise will put this conversation to rest. She looks Raven straight in the eyes, voice unwavering, “I’ll call her later this week. When I get time.” 

 

Raven looks as though she doesn’t quite believe her, but before she can say anything Octavia is strutting over, coffee in one hand, tiny scrap of paper in the other. 

 

“I got a phone number!” She says triumphantly, waving the piece of paper about as if it’s some sort of trophy. Clarke watches amusedly as Octavia settles opposite them, launching into her success story, almost spilling Raven’s coffee all over her in excitement. 

 

“Told you.” Raven mouths and Clarke can’t help but laugh in relief. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Lexa taps her fingers impatiently along the side of the photocopier, eyebrows furrowed as she waits for the last of her posters to print. There’s exactly thirty of them, pressed on bright red paper with a bold caption reading “be UN of us”.

 

Lexa doesn’t care much for the humor but Lincoln insisted, and considering she has about as much experience with graphic design as she has with comedy, she is in no position but to trust him. 

 

“This will work,” Lincoln says evenly, sensing her anxiety. She stills her hand and turns to him, apprehension apparent. 

 

“It better,” She says, “Or I’m never speaking to Anya again.” 

 

Anya who was  _ supposed _ to pull a team together in the first two weeks of the semester. Anya who  _ promised _ they’d have a group to qualify by the application date. Anya who flaked on her at the very last minute. 

 

“Come on, Lex,” Lincoln says softly, “Anya’s in grad school now. She’s got a lot on her plate.” 

 

“Evidently.” Lexa snaps, turning away from him to pull the last posters out of the copier, “Hold these.”

 

Lincoln stands wordlessly as Lexa piles posters into his open arms, standing back to appraise them carefully. She looks up at Lincoln, jaw tightening, “There are four of us. You, Luna, Anya and I. So we need four more people.” 

 

“Three people,” Lincoln interjects, “There’s a guy in my Ancient Roman class who’s interested.”

 

Lexa nods swiftly, pleased by this, “Three people. In a school of twenty thousand.”

 

“It’s manageable.” Lincoln says optimistically. 

 

“Manageable.” Lexa echoes in agreement. 

 

With a determined press of her jaw and a renewed vigor, she grabs a fistful of posters and sets off, Lincoln in tow. 

 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Lexa is having the most peculiar day. 

 

Firstly, to her great annoyance, her regular jogging route is cornered off for renovations, and with a great amount of reluctance, she is forced to take a much less desirable route down the road. Secondly, all of her morning classes are canceled due to her professor’s unforeseen timetable clash, and she finds herself wandering around campus with four hours to spare and a satchel full of heavy textbooks. And finally, when she drags Anya down to the quad at a little after two to rally the last potential recruits for their introductory meeting, she finds herself face to face with a pretty brunette, disconcertingly close with eyes dark and hungry. 

 

“It’s Lexa, right?” She asks, voice breathy. Lexa takes a subtle step back, briefly wondering if this stranger understands the concept of personal space. 

 

Lexa stares at her. “Do I know you?” She asks bluntly. The girl’s smile falters slightly, but she doesn’t seem deterred. 

 

“Octavia,” She says, “Octavia Blake. We met in the cafeteria a few days ago.” 

 

Lexa tilts her head, a flash of recognition washing over her. The strange girl from the cafeteria who interrupted the dinner line to compliment her eye color. She had been as weirdly intense then as she is right now. 

 

“Right. Octavia,” Lexa says, outstretching her arm to offer a poster, “Are you interested in joining the model UN?” 

 

Octavia looks down the poster, tilting her head slightly to read the caption. She takes the poster from Lexa’s hands, but not before stroking a long, purposeful path down the inside of Lexa’s arm with her fingers. Beside her, Anya’s eyebrows shoot into her hairline. 

 

“That depends,” Octavia says with a coy smile, “Will you be there?” 

 

Lexa blinks at her, a little thrown off. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Anya’s lips curling into a delighted smile. 

 

“Oh, she’ll be there,” Anya promises, “She is  _ the president _ after-all.”  

 

Octavia looks impressed, and Lexa stares back at her stupidly, at a loss for words. 

 

“Great,” Octavia says softly, taking the moment to press hand gently against Lexa’s forearm,  “I can’t wait.”

 

She winks brazenly as she turns away, swiveling her hips purposefully as if she knows Lexa’s watching. 

 

“She wants to fuck you.” Anya says loudly, after a few seconds of bewildered silence. Lexa purses her lips, trying to pretend as if the tips of her ears aren’t burning red. 

 

“Yes, well.” She says lamely, clearing her throat, “That’s neither here nor there. The important thing is she’s coming tomorrow-” 

 

“She’s cute,” Anya observes, ripping her gaze from Octavia’s retreating form to look Lexa in the eye, “You should go for it.”

 

“She’s not my type.” Lexa says quickly, averting her gaze. 

 

“And what exactly is your type?”

 

“I don’t know. Not her.” 

 

She shuffles the papers in her hands impatiently, looking through the crowds of students for another potential recruit. Anya’s stare is piercing. 

 

“Can we focus?” Lexa asks, “Even with Octavia we’re still down two members-” 

 

Anya looks exasperated with her, lips pursed into a straight line, eyes dark and unimpressed. She lets out a bored sigh, heaving her shoulders as she reaches for the stack of flyers. 

 

“Fine,” She grumbles, “Ruin my fun. How am I supposed to live vicariously through you if you turn down every hottie who throws herself at you?”

 

“Get a boyfriend.” Lexa suggests tightly, wanting very much to change the subject. 

 

“Grad school.” Anya reminds her. 

 

“And yet you still have time to pester me,” Lexa says wryly, “Here, make yourself useful. Start handing these out.” 

 

She presses another pile of posters into Anya’s hands and nudges her forward, gesturing to the large group of students, fresh from class. 

 

“Alright,” Anya says with a resigned sigh, “You stand there and look sexy. Maybe we’ll get a few more bites.” 

 

Lexa shakes her head, and wonders why she didn’t bring Lincoln instead. 

  
  
  


* * *

 

As if Lexa’s day hasn’t been strange enough, just as she says goodbye to Anya to head off for work, she receives a phone call from her boss. 

 

“There’s been a crash on seventh,” Gustus explains, his voice aggravated, “Police cordoned off the entire block. There’s no point in you coming in tonight, kid.” 

 

This day is awful, Lexa decides as she makes her way back to her dorm, scowl on her face. A mess of totally random nuisances, all contributing to a massively unproductive waste of a day. 

 

She would be a full set of lectures behind the course requirements needed for her classes, her ankles hurt from having to run on the stone path instead of the gravel and she’d miss an entire day's salary because some idiot had gone and wrapped his car around a lamp post. 

 

By the time she reaches her dorm she’s beyond annoyed, mentally calculating how to stretch her budget so she’ll be able to afford groceries next week with one pay short, trying to rack her brain for the names of the optional readings her professor had suggested so she doesn’t fall behind. She pries open the door aggressively, almost breaking her key card, and tosses her backpack to her bed, pulling off her coat with an annoyed grunt. 

 

“Lexa?” Clarke’s voice comes from her bed, sketchbook propped up against her knees, surprised look on her face, “What are you doing here?” 

 

“I live here.” Lexa answers coolly, not bothering to look at her as she swings her backpack onto her bed, pulling out her laptop. Assuming Clarke’s question has been satisfied, she drops down to her desk and opens the screen, fully intent on going through her extra readings to ensure today’s cancellation doesn’t affect her grade. 

 

“Don’t you have work?” 

 

Lexa ignores her. 

 

She tenses her shoulders, opening her browser with a stiff back, trying to skim through the words as patiently as she can. She blinks frustratingly as the words blur together, too aggravated to concentrate and presses her fingers to her desk, turning them white as she grits down in irritation.

 

Lexa hears Clarke shuffling behind her, tightening her jaw as Clarke wordlessly switches off her music, dropping her sketchbook to her desk softly. She doesn’t move from the desk, and although Lexa can’t see her, she can sense her hovering. 

 

“Is everything okay?” Clarke asks hesitantly after a few moments of silence, and Lexa purses her lips in annoyance.

 

“No,” Lexa says sourly, turning around to face her, “Everything is not okay. I’m trying to focus and you are barraging me with pointless questions.”

 

A flicker of hurt flashes through Clarke’s face, but before Lexa even has time to contemplate it, Clarke’s expression hardens, as she tilts her head through narrowed eyes.

 

“Sorry I asked,” She snipes, snatching her sketchbook up, “I’ll leave you alone then.” Clarke grabs her jacket off its rack angrily, and doesn’t bother sparing her a glance as she storms out in much the same fashion as Lexa stormed in. 

 

The door slams behind her, and the loud buzz of silence she leaves behind should be a relief. But Lexa’s stomach churns unpleasantly, even more unsettled than she was before, and instead of a fatigued sort of annoyance, she feels something akin to guilt. 

 

Mood soured and words on her screen unintelligible in her heightened state, Lexa slams her laptop closed, jaw twitching in tune with her temper, and falls face first into her bed, groaning into her pillow.  

 

* * *

 

“You know something,” Octavia says slowly as she comes out of the bathroom, toothbrush hanging out of her mouth, “I’m starting to think you’re not really trying with this bet.”

 

Raven doesn’t look up from her spot on the bed, eyes glued to her phone, “ _ Really _ ?” She asks, “What gave you that idea?”

 

Octavia narrows her eyes, and Raven looks up as her bed sinks under the weight of Octavia’s knees. 

 

“Scared she’ll pick me over you?” 

 

“Yep, that’s it.” Raven agrees, dropping her gaze back to her phone. 

 

“Hmm,” Octavia presses, leaning onto Raven’s knees, “I don’t think it is. I think something’s holding you back.”

 

“Yeah,” Raven says dryly, “It’s called a moral compass.”

 

“Nope that’s not it,” Octavia says, matter-of-factly, squinting her eyes as if looking to something in the far distance, “It’s something else... someone else.”

 

Raven lets out an exasperated sigh, knowing full well where this is going. Octavia’s eyes sparkle with that annoying all-seeing expression she pulls so frequently, usually to draw a reaction out of someone. 

 

“He’s tall,” Octavia says, eyes closed, fingers pressed to her temple, “With dark hair, a handsome smile. Not as good-looking as his sister but y’know, not bad.” 

 

She cracks open one eye, taking in Raven’s unimpressed look with a contemplative hum, “Your love for him is holding you back.” 

 

“I am not in love with Bellamy,” Raven says firmly, pulling her knees out from under Octavia, “Get off me.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Octavia challenges, “Prove it.” 

 

“Forget it,” Raven says with a roll of her eyes, “You’re not going to psych me into playing your dumb game.” 

 

Octavia frowns, jamming her toothbrush back into her mouth, “It always works with Clarke.” She mutters as she stands, slightly disheartened. 

 

Raven knew all too well how it worked on Clarke. She observes as Octavia disappears back into the bathroom with a disapproving click. 

 

“Speaking of Clarke,” She calls out, leaning back on her elbows, “Maybe you should lay off a little.” 

 

The loud flow of the water running isn’t enough to drown out Octavia’s scoff. She pokes her head through the door, eyebrow raised. 

 

“Wow, you really do love my brother,” Octavia says drearily, “You’re even starting to sound like him.” 

 

“Seriously, O,” Raven says, “Just leave her be. Just for a little while.” 

 

“Oh come on,” Octavia says, “Like you don’t think it’s funny when she gets angry and her face gets all red.” 

 

It’s pretty funny, Raven thinks privately, but she’ll never admit it to Octavia. Clarke is her best friend, and after all they’ve shared, all they’ve been through together she can’t help but feel slightly protective. 

 

“Octavia-”

 

Octavia bounces back onto Raven’s bed, swinging her feet over to hang off the side. She hums thoughtfully, pressing against Raven so they’re shoulder to shoulder. 

 

“I’ll make you a deal,” She says after a moment of contemplative silence, “I’ll back off Clarke. But not before I win this bet. And not before you do something for me.” 

 

If the mischievous glint in Octavia’s eye is anything to go by, Raven should be very afraid. She turns her head and watches Octavia carefully, cautious of what she may propose. 

 

“I want you to join a club with me.” Octavia says and Raven blinks at her. 

 

“A club?”

 

Octavia reaches over her to her desk, knocking a stack of papers out of the way to grab a bright red flyer. She presses it into Raven’s hands and watches as Raven looks down at it, sitting back on her knees expectantly. 

 

“The model UN?” Raven asks incredulously, eyebrows creased, “Seriously? Do you even know what the UN is?

 

“It’s the international police or whatever,” Octavia says with a wave of her hand, “What does it matter?”

 

“That’s not-” Raven presses a hand to forehead, headache starting to form, “I wouldn’t suppose Lexa has anything to do with this club?” 

 

Octavia’s grin is telling, and Raven tempers the groan she wants to let out. 

 

“As a matter of fact she does,” Octavia says brightly, “She just so happens to be the president.” 

 

Octavia is persistent, Raven will give her that. She eyes the poster warily, and looks back to where Octavia is watching her with eager eyes, awaiting her agreement. 

 

“All you have to do is join,” Octavia says tantalizingly, “And I’ll leave the princess alone.”

 

“She doesn’t like being called that,” Raven says softly and Octavia rolls her eyes. 

 

“What are you, her mom? Do we have a deal or what?” 

 

Raven appraises her with an agitated stare. With or without her, Octavia would join this stupid club, and with or without her Octavia would attempt to win the bet. She had been so sure Octavia would have dropped it by now but as each day passes her confidence wavers. Octavia is insistent, unperturbed by distraction, resistant to to compromise. Perhaps if Raven was there with her, she could at least  _ try _ to redirect Octavia’s efforts elsewhere. 

 

“Fine,” Raven says reluctantly, and Octavia eyes light with excitement, “But only on the condition-”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I leave Clarke alone, whatever,” Octavia says with a roll of her eyes. She squeezes Raven’s thigh with a squeal and jumps off into her own bed, devilish smile widening across her face. 

 

“This is going to be fun,” Octavia promises, “Clarke is going to  _ freak _ \--”

 

Raven shoots her a sharp look and Octavia feigns innocence, holding both of her hands up, “For the last time,” She clarifies sweetly, “Clarke will freak for the very last time.”  

 

Raven sits with the flyer in hand and stares down at it, wondering what she has gotten herself into. 


End file.
